


Oh Darlin, What have I done

by Ani_V



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy is not sleeping, Clarke fixes it, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season 1, like at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ani_V/pseuds/Ani_V
Summary: “I have to fuck you. You want me to sleep? I have to fuck you, here on this couch. And then against that table. And maybe on the floor too. And it won’t be pretty, princess” he leans in a little further. He’s pissed because Clarke thinks it's all a game. She thinks he’s a game, and fuck her, he’s not playing any games here "And sure as hell it won't be sweet. I have to be sore by the end, and you will be too "





	

**Author's Note:**

> at some point after ep.5 I guess???? (I’ll move on from season one, I swear. I just love their dynamic and alsdkfjasldfkj)  
> PS: Bellamy's POV this time

He’s a mess and he hates to admit it, but the truth is the truth —and Bellamy Blake can lie like a pro, but if there’s something he hates is self-deception. It hasn’t been easy, life on the ground since they landed —10 days and counting— but, in general, his life hasn’t been easy, so at this point some things are just like an automatism for him. Like a soldier trained for a war he didn’t know he was fighting, Bellamy Blake was a survivor. There were things that needed to be done, when they had to be done and he would do them without hesitation. Of course, those around him haven’t had an easy life either. What the fuck, a lot of them had even worse stories than him. Some had spent years trapped inside the Skybox, desperate to do more than to look at the bars around them.

Bellamy, however, had condemned himself.

He likes to think he did it for the right reasons. Noble reasons. After all, he wanted to save his sister. Protect her from all evil. Sometimes he thinks he did it because he hated to feel trapped in that janitor's uniform, with the guard members looking at him like he was a nobody. The older brother of a secret girl. The son of a seamstress and some guy.

Yep. He likes to tell himself that it was for a good cause —Octavia would always be the right reason, no matter what— but if he was honest with himself (and he is) shooting Jaha had been for him as well. Because he desperately needed a change in his life.

And he doesn’t like to admit it very often because that makes him a monster, but the power of the gun in his hand, and the memory of the Chancellor falling… he liked it. For the first time in a long time —almost a year, for the love of God— Bellamy Blake felt he had done justice. That his mother had not died for a stupid crime, that his sister was not going to die alone down there. He felt order was reestablished, and the gentleman who took away what belonged to them might no longer breathe.

But apparently, he is not even a good shooter.

Now not only does he have to be worried about survival on Earth until the Ark comes down, but he must worry about survival  _when_  the Ark comes down as well, and that seems to be his life. Like a constant cycle, Bellamy can count with his fingers the decisions that haven’t been affected by other’s rules.  — “If we want to survive down here, we cannot just live by whatever the hell we want”, she had said to him, creating new rules. Clarke's face is a reminder of something, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Because right now, the boy is lying on his bed —well, that's funny. It’s more like a ton seats’ pieces, the padded parts, and some survival blankets that were inside the Dropship emergency kits, but he isn’t complaining—, bundled up in a tangle of arms and legs, two girls at his sides. One is sleeping on him like she had decided his chest was the best pillow in the world —since the pillow Bellamy has under his head is not too soft, he understands her— and the other is leaning against his shoulder, her nose buried against his arm, a hand circling his bicep like that made her feel safer.

Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, moving his free arm, then rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to shake his tiredness off or conjure sleep back. He wants something but he doesn’t know what it is. He wants to sleep but, damn, he can’t.

Since they landed he hasn’t had trouble sleeping. Although he knew there were a lot of things that could go wrong and they had constant threats, Bellamy had found ways to distract himself. To spend the energy.

There were walls to build, teens to organize, food to be hunted. He had so much on his plate that, now, the problems had accumulated in Bellamy's life like a feast. And he had no appetite

There was always something to do, so instead of thinking —about Chancellor Jaha being still alive, according to Raven… Alive and willing to come to Earth to destroy him; about the 300 people who fell from the sky yesterday, like a rain of precious stars that now weighed in his conscience; about how his sister hates him for the things he’s done; about Clarke, that damn girl…—; instead of thinking about things that had no solution, he has fucked his brains out.

Until he was empty. Drained. Exhausted.

He did it the first day they landed. He wasn’t celebrating anything. He did it to feel something, anything, whatever, for the first time since his sister had been arrested, his mother sentenced and he forgotten in the system. He did it to remind himself that he was still a guy, every part of his body still worked properly, and because he could. He did it because he wanted to know he could.

The buzzing in his mind disappeared —nothing, no death, no guilt. Just silence— so, the sex? It worked for Bellamy, and the girls didn’t seem to mind. The boy always took the ones who seemed to be old enough —God, if they knew how _old_ he was— and always, always,  _always_ made sure they enjoyed it.

Because if Bellamy could sleep afterwards, dry of sweat and semen and without nightmares, feeling the pleasure of tired muscles, he had to give them something in return. He let them stay to sleep if they wanted to, hugged them at night or told them a story, like he did to Octavia when she was a child. Most of the time, though, they were tired too, and they just wanted to sleep. That worked well for Bellamy. He just wanted to fucking sleep as well.

And he’d done it.

Or he has been doing it.

Because now his mind is very alive —and after a session with two girls, that shouldn’t be happening— and Bellamy knows there’s no human way he can fall asleep.

He grunts, takes off the hot bodies in his bed, trying not to wake them —the girls don’t even notice— and he gets up, groping for his clothes. He puts on his pants and boots, and he's going to come out his tent like that but it's cold because the damn humidity is almost palpable, so he puts on his t-shirt and jacket too.

When he leaves the tent, he isn’t surprised to realize that the whole camp is sleeping. The sounds of breaths, snores, people moving in their beds and the fire in the middle of the camp, that's all Bellamy is capable of hearing.

He should organize patrols, he thinks as he looks at the sky and then at the wooden wall that is nothing compared to the savages out there. They need weapons and they need them now.

Muttering under his breath, he walks around camp, checking that Octavia is sleeping in a bed between Jasper and Monty. He grunts but says nothing because the boys have kept their hands to themselves, and the girl seems to be at peace. Bellamy feels the insane need to get closer, to see that she is still breathing —he doesn’t know how many times he’d done that when she was just a child— but he represses himself, and turns around, letting his sister sleep.

There are no more tents left in camp and suddenly he is in front of the Dropship. There are some kids sleeping in beds Clarke had put inside. Nothing serious, she had said, just tiredness —they had been working on that wall day and night, and then on the rations, water...

Clarke is nowhere to be seen, and without knowing why he realizes that he has been looking for her for a while now. Shit, he's been thinking about her for a while, ever since he found himself lying with his eyes open, staring into nowhere.  Wondering, if maybe, maybe she could convince him that it was not so bad. Maybe she could put his demons in order, just like she did with everything else, because Bellamy was chaos and she was an empty vessel.

The boy climbs to the second floor, not expecting to find anything because there’s no noise at all up there. He opens the hatch and then, when he’s already inside, he closes it. It’s not until later, when he looks around, that he realizes there’s a flashlight on, and Clarke is there. Sitting against the metal wall, a blanket over her knees, and an open notebook abandoned on her lap. At first, he thinks that she is looking at him, because the flashlight doesn’t give too much light and he can’t see properly but as he advances he realizes that the girl is asleep.

Bellamy moves forward trying not to make a sound and he lets himself fall on the floor beside her.

It's crazy, now that he thinks about it. In less than two weeks he has gone from hating her guts to being attracted to her like a moth to the light —and the metaphor is old, but damn, it works, because Clarke has all that blond hair and radiant skin, and he's just mud.

Not attracted to her as he feels with the other girls. He doesn’t know how to explain it, and Bellamy Blake is very good with words. It's ... a strange attraction, like a part of him has accepted her as family, and maybe he has a lack of that. Maybe without a mother and with a sister on his shoulders, the weight of the deaths and guilt, Clarke Griffin is a relief.

Someone to argue with, yes, but someone who is not afraid of him —and considering that sometimes he is afraid of himself, that’s a lot to say—; someone who argues with him and who cares about everyone. What the fuck, maybe she even cared about him, despite all the shit he'd said and done.

The book she has on her thighs is open and Bellamy doesn’t want to pry, but it's almost impossible not to see what she has been drawing. Wells’s face looks at him from the notebook and that guilt that is not letting him sleep laughs at him now because, God, that was his fault too.

"Hasn’t anyone told you that staring is rude?” Clarke's voice almost scares him, but he recovers right away. Bellamy leans against the wall, next to her, looking anywhere but her blue eyes. Sometimes her gaze is too much and the boy doesn’t know how to hold it. Like a Titan —Atlas, that was his name— he could carry anything on his shoulders but the way she looked at him was too much sometimes.

She saw through him like his skin was transparent and his muscles and organs were there to look at. She looked at him and saw him for something he didn’t understand.

"What makes you think I don’t want to be rude?" he asks back, closing his eyes and smiling to himself.

"Touché" Bellamy is not looking at her, but he knows she is smiling tiredly.

The boy rests his arms on his knees, and decides to open his eyes and look at her. She is not staring at him but the drawing, and Bellamy can take the liberty of observing her for a second. Her blonde hair is loose but removed from her face, and the tips reach her chest. He looks away because he doesn’t want to be the asshole that stares at her cleavage.

"I still can’t believe he's dead, you know?"

"Yeah" it’s the only thing he answers, as a prick, because he can’t think what else to say. Clarke doesn’t seem to be talking to him anyway.

“I hated him for so long and he let me do it. Jesus, he let me. And now I can’t get back and make amends. Now I feel like I’ve lost so much time” She’s spilling her guts to him for some reason, but he’s not complaining. Earlier that night, she asked him what would he wish for and now he knows.  He wants her to stop crying, because there are tears in her eyes and she hasn’t notice yet. There’s pain in her voice, and regret, oh god, so much regret that Bellamy almost feels like his own demons are barely grains of sand in that mountain of hers. “He lied about my mother. She… she killed my father, you know? She had him floated. And Wells took the blame”

“He wanted to protect you, Clarke. There’s nothing you could have done” he hears himself say, because he remembers the way Wells looked at Clarke, and shit, he would have done the same for his sister —that thing they had in common, doing anything for the ones they loved.

“But I chose to believe him and…”

“You need to let it go”

She laughs a little, her head against the metal wall, closing her eyes and breathing.

“I will when you do”

“What are you talking about?”

And it’s so quiet for once, no noise outside, just her and him and his own thoughts, he feels like this is the first time they’ve actually talked since they met. She’s not screaming, he’s not yelling, they don’t have to worry about any imminent threat or anything. Just the two of them for a while.

“Why are you here?” she inquires, letting the other question go.

And hey, guess what? He feels like answering. She’s looking at him with curious eyes, but not demanding ones. She feels so… real, he lets himself go.

“I couldn’t sleep”

She arches an eyebrow.

“Not even after….” She doesn’t finish the sentence but he knows she’s seen them —the girls, him— getting into his tent before. It’s not such a big camp.

“What do you know about that?” he mocks her, because he doesn’t want to talk about sex with her. Not when he can still taste those other girls on his tongue. Not when she’s next to him and he can smell her.

She snorts, looking embarrassed for half a second and then sad.

“Nothing”

Nothing? He wants to ask, but again, he doesn’t really want to get into that kind of trouble with her. She’s just there, and her warmth is reaching him.

“It’s…” he starts, trying to explain himself, and he wonders if she would be interested in anything he has to say, because lately he’s been saying so much crap.

“What?” it’s a whisper, but it feels safe, intimate, and she closes the book —or diary, or whatever— looking at him with her big blue eyes, and he’s a goner.

“I’m sorry” he confesses, for the first time since forever. “There’s so much shit that I’ve done since we got here, and I’m sorry”

She doesn’t ask him to stop. She doesn’t tell him that he doesn’t need to apologize, because he does and they both know it.

“I’m sorry about the radio and about Charlotte. I’m sorry about Murphy. I just wanted to feel like down here we could be different, you know?” It’s more that he’s said out loud to anyone in a loooooooooong time, but with her it’s just easy.

She doesn’t prey on his suffering, she doesn’t enjoy his misfortune.

“I know” she clears her throat, then an unexpected hand is touching his own, a soft caress “I know you care too, Bellamy. I just wish you were easier to deal with. We need to work together or these kids are going to die before the Ark gets here”

“If the Ark gets here, I’m as good as dead, Clarke” he doesn’t withdraw his hand because it feels good. And it’s stupid because he’s been fucking and licking and touching two girls just half an hour ago, but he feels touch deprived.

“You’re not”

He’s the one who snorts now, and she tightens the hold on his hand.

“When the radio is fixed, we’re going to talk to Jaha. It’s going to be okay”

“I shot him, Clarke. I’m not his favorite guy” He looks at her from his side, and she smiles a little, like she’s got everything under control even if there’s still tears on her cheeks.

She’s so brave —brave, brave princess— and he’s nothing but a slave at her feet.

“As soon as you tell him who gave you the gun, you will be”

“Okay, if you say so” he shrugs and closes his eyes again, sighing. They’re not holding hands, not exactly but Clarke doesn’t let go either and he doesn’t say anything.

“Aren’t you tired?” she asks, and hell if that’s not the statement of the year.

“Yeah”

“Then go to sleep.”

She pushes him a little, urging him to go to his tent, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to go.

“I wish” he murmurs.

“What was that?”

He sighs again.

“I said I wish. I can’t sleep”

He doesn’t open his eyes. Bellamy doesn’t want to know if she’s looking at him like he’s a stray dog that doesn’t belong anywhere. He doesn’t want to see pity in her eyes.

“You can stay here if you want” she offers “I’m going to keep drawing for a little bit”

“’kay” he answers again.

She lets his hand go and goes back to her drawing, the sound of the pencil on the paper calming him, relaxing him, until he’s asleep. He thinks he hears her laugh on the background, but he’s too far gone to care.

 

*

And if he was a mess before, now he's a fucking walking mess.

For some reason that Bellamy can’t understand, falling asleep next to Clarke on the Dropship that night has turned out to be the worst of the remedies. Now he just feels relaxed when he is with the girl around camp —and maybe that she convinced Jaha to forgive his crimes had something to do with it. Maybe the talk they had when he cried his guts out against that tree had something to do with it too.

And the connection that wasn’t there before (and if it was he could pretend otherwise), now seemed almost tangible. Clarke is sadder than before, different, keeping her distant from her lapdog —okay, his name is Finn, whatever— but she’s ready to face any danger. The days go by slowly, too slowly for Bellamy, a blurred mass he can’t distinguish.

He can’t sleep.

At least sex helped him to fall asleep before. Now? Now that didn’t work anymore, so Bellamy has stopped. There was no point in pretending to be interested in girls and their bodies when he didn’t even get anything out of it —and no, a couple of orgasms were not enough.

No. Now his body was looking for something else, the same peace, that tranquility he felt when he sat on the Dropship next to Clarke and slept, because with her there, guarding him —drawing, whatever— Bellamy Blake could stop covering his own back. He could be himself for two seconds.

He thinks that's it. No matter how much he thinks about it, that has to be it. It’s the fact that she sees him, open and dissected as one of her practical medicine’s lessons. Everything Bellamy is, it’s there, exposed. Exposed and ready to study. To everyone else? Bellamy can sell the story he wants. Fuck, he'd spent his whole life holding his head down, lying, keeping secrets so big that now he doesn’t know how to stop. At some point, it had become an automatism and his mother's eyes looked at him sometimes, in his memories, when he couldn’t sleep. Those blue eyes like Octavia's, the same black hair. But Bellamy had her character. And her ability to say what he wanted, to avoid the rest, to convince others that the Earth was flat and the sea was not salty.

With Clarke? Barely had he even opened his mouth when the girl was already seeing him, inside, inside his damn head, through the words he did not say, if that was possible.

And that scares him, because Bellamy can hide behind walls of words since he can remember. But Clarke has forts, and towers, and the princess looks at him from above, guessing all his fucking secrets.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath as he makes his way through camp. It's raining —not too much, just one of those stupid drizzles that gets you wet without even realizing it— and he’s been on patrolling for a couple of hours now, rifle in hand. He doesn’t have a watch but he knows it’s time to rotate and Miller has to take his place.

By the time he arrives at the door’s camp, the boy is already there, his beanie on his head, his hands in his pockets, waiting for him.

"Anything?" He asks as a greeting.

Bellamy gives him the rifle.

"All quiet" and then, because he feels the need, he adds "Eyes wide open, Miller. Take care"

"Go to sleep, Blake" Miller smiles and Bellamy thinks he manages to do it too.

The truth is that he is tired as fuck, but to get some sleep? Well, that's another story.

He walks to his tent, and when he gets in he finds a girl there. She is asleep —she must has fallen asleep waiting for him— and although she is covered with a blanket, her naked shoulders let him know that she is not wearing anything underneath.

He knows who she is, he has slept with her a few times, he knows what sounds she does when he kisses her behind her ear, and the way she gasps his name if he eats her with his fingers.

He should stop it, he thinks, as he watches her sleep, and takes off his jacket, stop fucking her. And the others too. In fact, he had already stopped it, had not done it for days, but they kept trying. Now, as he looks at her, her dark hair sprawled on his bed, he knows he should stop not only because it’s not fair for him, but because it’s not fair for them. And because, among all those teenagers, sooner or later, there was going to be some silly infatuation, and the last thing Bellamy wanted was to be part of that.

And if he thinks of Clarke for a second when the word infatuation crosses his mind it's just because Bellamy Blake is instinctively always thinking about everyone. And that’s it.

He's going to take off his boots too, and get into bed without thinking about anything else, but then he wonders what for. He's not going to sleep, and he doesn’t want to disturb the girl inside the bed.

He doesn’t put his jacket on again, he picks up another blanket instead and throws it over his shoulders, and then he gets out of his tent and walks around. He can see —because there’s a full moon— two boys patrolling camp, armed. He nods to himself, satisfied with the work they have accomplished, and continues walking without knowing where he goes.

Well, he doesn’t know but his feet do seem to know, because he ends up in front of Clarke's tent —she hadn’t wanted to have one to herself but Bellamy had insisted.

 “Shit” he murmurs again, because lately that seems to be the boy's favorite word.

He's not going to bother her. He is going to turn around to continue wandering until he falls flat on his face, but sometimes things don’t go the way you want them to.

"Are you going to stand there or do you actually want anything?" Clarke's voice sounds camouflaged through the plastic, but it's loud enough to know she was awake.

"Fuck" he says again, and there goes another word he uses a lot lately.

But he has already been caught and he doesn’t want to be a coward —he  _is_  a coward, but shit, she hasn’t seen it yet and if Bellamy can avoid it, she would never see it —so he steps forward and opens her curtain’s tent with his hand.

The girl is lying on her bed, covered with another blanket, just like the one he has around his shoulders, and she is staring at him in the shadows with eyes that shine almost like some goddamn star constellations in the middle of nowhere. Her cheeks are somehow colored, and he thinks that's good, because that means she's healthy, she's eating well and sleeping better.

Not like you, his conscience tells him.

He would roll his eyes to himself, but Clarke is looking up at him with an arched eyebrow, and the girl's presence is intimidating.

 “I….”

“Couldn’t sleep again?” she finishes for him.

"Yeah" he is not even surprised she’s able to tell, because honestly, Bellamy doesn’t look very good lately.

"Have you been sleeping at all?" she inquires, the doctor replacing the girl.

"Maybe a couple of hours?"

"God, you look like the dog's dinner" she laughs at him and when did that become addictive? Well, it is.

Just because he's there, with her in the tent, suddenly he begins to feel the tiredness of the sleepless days of worry and hard work. Shit, he's tired.

"I should leave. I don’t even know... " he starts to say, but she stands up leaning on one of her elbows and looks at him like she’s calculating something. Bellamy would like to say he doesn’t like it when she looks at him like that, but he would be lying.

"You can stay" she says, suddenly, biting her lower lip "To sleep, I mean. Maybe it'll help?"

Bellamy swallows, because he doesn’t know what to say, and the correct answer is no. No, no, no. But he is already walking forward, sitting on her bed. Clarke steps aside to leave him room and he watches himself taking off his boots, without being aware that he is doing it. He wants to lie on his back, but Clarke's bed is not big enough for both of them, and in the end, she rolls to her side and he has to do the same.

They stare at each other in the dark, covered with their own blanket, sharing the mattress beneath their bodies and the air between them, nothing else.

He wants to say something, but she has her eyes closed and a secret smile on her mouth. He wants to get closer and know why she smells so good, but that's as risky as unprotecting your queen in chess —and Bellamy always hated that game anyway.

He's going to tell her something. In fact, he opens his mouth but Clarke talks first.

"Shut up and go to sleep, Blake. I have to get up early in the morning"

He laughs.

"I don’t take orders from you, princess" he says back, because shit, he must have the last word on this.

She smiles, but doesn’t say anything else, and that's it.

 

*

When he wakes up he hopes —he wishes, he wants, he hopes… just semantics— to be entangled in Clarke. He may even have to apologize for his morning wood and she'll kick him out of bed. He smiles, still half asleep, and it’s not until he opens his eyes that he realizes he’s alone in bed and that Clarke's side has been empty for a long time.

"Fuck" he murmurs under his breath.

What the fuck, Bellamy?

 

*

 

“I’m not going to fall” he’s tired, really tired, and he might be losing his peripherical vision, but he’s not going to fucking fall. 

“Yes, you are” Clarke insists because that’s what she does better, and Bellamy doesn’t know why but suddenly the rifle he’s holding in his hand is too heavy and maybe he needs to sit down for a while.

“I’m just tired, princess”

Bellamy can see she wants to bite his face off, but she doesn’t say a single word. She just rolls her eyes. Even better, he thinks. He has patrol tonight and he needs to be there.

 “I’ve got responsibilities, Clarke. I can’t just…”

“Yes, you can” she says, and then, THEN, she has the nerve to take off his rifle and hand it over to the first kid that walks by.  

“You” she says, with that voice that is just a command “You’re on patrol tonight”

“Cool” that’s the only thing the boy answers.

But eh, what was that? He is the one making the rules here, not her. What the fuck has just happened?

"What the fuck are you doing?"

She puts her hands on her hips, and faces him like that day when they rescued Jasper, without a hint of fear in her face, all attitude and bad manners. He’s tired and everything, but he still feels a strange sexual interest in the passion and fierceness she is showing. He is so exhausted and she is only reviving like a fire that never fades away.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Hey, I sleep"

No, he doesn’t sleep.

Zero.

He has refused to go back to her tent, because he doesn’t want to be like a stray dog. Forget the princess, Clarke was the queen and in that chess game he was nothing but the pawn.

"When?”

"The other day," he replies, talking with his hands, "What is this, Clarke?”

"The other day, when?" she insists, ignoring him.

Bellamy doesn’t answer because the other day was when he slept with her, but he is not going to talk about it. Nop. Ever.

Clarke looks at him between worry and anger and, God, he really has to look like shit if she’s being so difficult.

"With you. The other day, with you. Happy now?" He snorts, brushing his hair away from his face, suddenly upset, because he can’t believe he said it out loud “Now can I go to sleep, doctor? Since I have nothing else to do?"

He waits for Clarke to get out of his way now that he has given in, because that's what she wanted, but suddenly she starts  to walk away, and she turns around, waiting for him to follow.

“Come on” she urges him.

"Come on?"

"I want to show you something"

"Now? In the middle of the night?"

"Are you afraid, Blake? Is that it?” And she doesn’t say it but Clarke's gaze speaks clear and loud. She’s challenging him. There are dozens of kids surrounding them, finishing dinner and getting ready to go to their tents. If he says no, he will lose the little authority he has.

No, he has authority, damn it. He still has it.

He may know that he is a pawn, but the pawn is wearing a crown and the others only see what he wants to show them.

"Keep walking. I'm going after you"

And he doesn’t know how much truth those words hold. 

*

When they stop in the middle of nowhere Bellamy is about to ask if she has lost her head, but then the girl crouches, removes a few leaves from the ground and finds a trapdoor.

"Is this ...?"

"A bunker, yeah" Clarke smiles over her shoulder and then walks in without giving him any other choice but to follow her.

The bunker is a graveyard of shelves filled with expired food cans and forgotten toys. It has a couch and a table. A couple of small cots. And boxes full of things that Bellamy cannot see because Clarke is lighting candles, but the place is mostly in the dark.

"How did you find this?"

"It was Finn, actually" there is something in her voice lately when she talks about Finn, and he doesn’t need to be a genius to know what it is. Since Raven, Finn has been keeping his distance and well, the maths are not that hard to do, really.

"And you didn’t tell me?"

"I wanted to have a safe place" she explains, dismissing it with her hand, while lighting up every candle.

"A safe place. From us "

"For us" she adds "Like right now. You need to sleep and you can do it quietly, with no one bothering you "

He looks at her, raising an eyebrow and she smiles at him.

"Well, you're here"

"Shut up, asshole, I'm trying to help" Clarke moves around the bunker like it belonged to her, like she had been here before, more than once. There is a question in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t dare to ask, and anyway, before Bellamy can recognize what the question means, Clarke sits on the couch and opens her notebook, ready to draw "Come on, go to sleep. I'll be right here"

He wants to hate her. He really wants.

"Yes, mom"

 

*

Bellamy has fallen asleep. For an entire hour.

Wow. World record.

Now he opens his eyes and realizes that the candles are still lit, and Clarke is in the same position she was. He can see her from the cot, with her knees raised and the notebook resting there, drawing. She is biting his mouth, and at some point, she has braided her hair, just like the first day they met.

With a grunt he gets up from the bed and walks barefoot —fuck it, he’s wearing socks. He smiles a little when he scares her by sitting down next to her on the couch.

"Is that it? That’s all you're going to sleep?”

Bellamy sighs, leaning back on the sofa, staring at a distant spot on the wall in front of him.

"I told you, I can’t sleep"

"You had no problems before"

"I know"

Clarke looks at him from the side but he is still looking forward, tired, oh god so tired. He has a headache. The boy closes his eyes, and rests his head against the wall.

"What has changed?"

"What?"

"You know, you had to have certain routines .... Certain patterns. Something has had to change if you could sleep before and now you can’t"

And yes, something has changed. He had the bright idea of falling asleep with her at his side and now nothing seems to work. He doesn’t want to recognize it out loud, however, so he chooses to talk about something that bothers her to shut her up.

"I quit the girls"

"What?"

He looks at her sideways, with his head still leaning on the wall. She's looking at him with wide eyes.

"I quit the sex"

He waits because he knows she's going to look at him. He waits because he knows she's going to be too embarrassed and she'll change the subject quickly.

She clears her throat, but doesn’t do anything he hoped for.

"Did it help? The sex, I mean. Not quitting "

Bellamy laughs and realizes she's looking at him with interest.

"Yeah."

"Then why did you stop?"

Shit, now he's in the same place as he was a while ago. He stopped because it was not helping either, because sleeping next to her helped him and nothing else. He stopped because he felt like a user and he hated that.

"I don’t know" he responds, however, because he prefers to talk about sex with her rather than telling her the truth. "There were no more girls left to fuck, I guess?

Clarke doesn’t laugh with his joke and she’s quiet for a while. In the end, Bellamy turns his head to look at her because it’s not normal she’s quiet for so long. When he sees her he realizes that she is up to something. She has her lower lip between her teeth, and she leaves her notebook on the table very slowly.

She seems to be fighting an internal battle, with some demon that Bellamy will never know, and when she talks again it’s in a whisper.

"Would it help ... if I ..."

She doesn’t go on but Bellamy raises his eyebrows because what the hell? He knows where the girl is going with that sentence, but that's the last thing she was supposed to say.

"You want to have sex with me now, Clarke?"

"What! No" she answers back so quickly that Bellamy feels offended.

"I don’t tend to fuck girls who don’t want to fuck me, you know"

It’s fun, to mess around with her, because that's what he's doing. He doesn’t believe she's interested in him, not for real. It’s only her kind nature, which is forcing her to help him.

"That's not what I meant," she says, staring at the wall, and Bellamy is surprised to see there is a blush spreading down her cheeks. "Maybe ... maybe we don’t need to, you know. Maybe I can just ... " she stops, sighs, and then squares her shoulders and looks at him like she's made a decision that only she knows about. Bellamy wishes he were inside her head when these things happened. "Maybe I can just touch you. Or I don’t know, we could just kiss for a while "

He laughs.

Bellamy laughs.

"Go away" he manages to say, laughing, because she’s messing with him. She has to be. The girl is looking at him, however, offended. "Look, you don’t have to laugh at me for my methods. I'm a grown up, Clarke. I can take care of myself”

"Yeah, I can see that" and there's so much anger and grumpiness in her voice that Bellamy gets angry too.

"Are you serious, Clarke?" He sits straight on the couch because this conversation can no longer be relaxed "Do you really want to do this? Because I assure you, that’s not the way it works”

She can’t be serious. Bellamy is convinced that it’s only Clarke's nature to help everyone, so the boy leans forward, their knees touching on the couch, his face close, but not too close.

 “I have to fuck you. You want me to sleep? I have to fuck you, here on this couch. And then against that table. And maybe on the floor too. And it won’t be pretty, princess” he leans in a little further. He’s pissed because Clarke thinks it's all a game. She thinks he’s a game, and fuck her, he’s not playing any games here "And sure as hell it won’t be sweet. I have to be sore by the end, and you will be too "

"Yeah?" She asks, breathless.

She's not scared, he realizes, she's fucking turned on and damn if his dick doesn’t agree.

"You don’t want that" he hears himself talking, but he's just looking at her mouth. Staring.

"You're wrong." Clarke is gripping her hands into fists, hard, and she’s looking at him with such intensity that Bellamy wonders why they need the candles at all.

"Tell me why" he orders, because fuck, now he's tired, pissed and horny. His blood racing in his veins.

"Because I want to" she holds his gaze, she's not scared.

"I don’t believe you" Bellamy ends up shortening the distance that separates them and their noses collide and they don’t stop looking at each other, but the girl doesn’t back down.

He doesn’t expect it –damn it, princess— but Clarke finishes sealing the deal. She kisses him, gluing her hot lips to the boy's and an electric lash bends him forward, arching his back. The girl licks his lower lip just to bit it later, distracting him enough to make him forget that they were having a conversation.

He holds the back of her neck with one hand, because he wants to kiss her for hours, but no, no, no. He was talking to her.

"Tell me" he asks, against her mouth, his voice so hoarse that he doesn’t recognize it. Clarke doesn’t open her eyes, breathing agitated against him, and all Bellamy wants to do is kiss the mole over her upper lip and then kiss her until she asks him to stop "I don’t care why. But tell me "

"If you don’t care, why are you asking?"

"Humor me"

And that seems to piss her off because the girl raises a hand up to his hair, and gives it a soft pull, enough to push him away from her face, but his cock seems to like the pain.

"I hate you," she hisses, and she pulls his hair harder as he caresses the back of her neck. They are breathing the air between them like it were some kind of cure.

"Good. Now tell me "

She kisses him instead, hard and soft at the same time, pulling his hair and caressing his mouth, and this time he gasps and can’t stop the advance of her tongue. Bellamy doesn’t know how, but Clarke has strength and she pushes him against the back of the sofa, straddling him later.

He grunts when he feels her weight against his hard on, the suffocating heat of her crotch and her chest against him.

"Stop" he asks, leaning back a little. He surrounds her with his arms, and forces her to be trapped against his chest because he is stronger "Stop, Clarke"

And the girl growls and tries to break free but when she sees that he’s not going to let her go, she stops resisting and hides her head on his neck.

"This is not you"

He feels her trembling against his body, a dry laugh.

“I don’t care if I don’t sleep for a year Clarke, but this is not you”

She speaks against his neck, but Bellamy can hear her just fine.

"This is exactly me. And if I'm going to be just a fuck at least it will be because I wanted it like that"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you talking about?"

Clarke sighs, and Bellamy tenses because if it has been him who had made her believe she was just a fuck with that little speech of him, he has to apologize. He was trying to frighten her, and force her to take the sex offer off the table, not to make her believe that she was nothing more than a piece of worthless meat.

"Look Clarke, I didn’t mean what I said before. I was just trying to scare you "

"I know" she says.

"Then why ...?"

Clarke leans back from his shoulder, and then removes the hair from her face with one hand.

"I slept with him, okay? Before Raven. I did it and I believed .... Fuck, Bellamy, I believed it meant something. But it was all a lie "

“Fuck”

"Yeah"

“Sorry”

"It's not your fault"

"I shouldn’t have told you all those things before"

"I don’t care about that. It sounded good, really "

Bellamy laughs beneath her, and something seems to break and re-connect them. Clarke starts laughing too.

"I'm sorry I attacked you"

"It was a good kiss. Don’t apologize for that" Bellamy grabs her from the thighs and rests her on the couch "Come on, sleep, I'll keep watch for a while"

"But you can’t sleep"

"It doesn’t matter, Clarke, really" he looks at her but he doesn’t want to move because he has a massive hard on. She breathes still and that makes her chest rise and fall. Bellamy doesn’t want to stare at her tits, really but goddamn, they are  _there._

When he realizes he’s staring, he looks at her face, and she may be blushing up to her ears. Damn it, Bellamy.

“Would you kiss me for a while?” she asks, and before he can answer back she adds “Even if it doesn’t help. Just because I want to?”

He should say no.

“Yeah” he’s not the smartest guy on earth.

Clarke stretches out her arms, and lies down on the couch, and Bellamy can do nothing but follow her. He grabs himself on his hands so as not to crush her, and Clarke's legs fall open so he can lie between them. This doesn’t seem to be just kissing, he thinks, as he lets his hips descent against hers and the girl sighs. It seems more dangerous, but Bellamy hasn’t slept for a long time and his mind is not clear. Clarke tangles her hands in his hair, and this time she doesn’t pull at it, she caresses it.

He wants to feel ashamed of the sound he makes, really, but then the girl kisses him again, and he forgets the shame.

Although they are joined by the hips, Bellamy is holding his weight and his chest isn’t touching the girl's. Clarke's warmth reaches him from below, and when he does this —licks her tongue inside his mouth, kisses her in a slow caress, because he loves to fuck fast and kiss slowly— she arches, gluing her breasts against him. She is breathless, panting into his mouth, and the hands she had in the boy's hair have grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him down.

"You're holding back," she says, arching her hips like she had forgotten they were only going to kiss for a while.

"I’m kissing you"

"Your lips are on mine, sure"

Bellamy pulls back because there is mockery in her tone.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. Come back here"

But there is a mischievous look in her eyes and Bellamy doesn’t like what she is insinuating. For some reason, he ends up thinking that maybe she's thinking about Finn while he kisses her, and that lights on a fire that burns him alive.

Bellamy kisses her, tangling a hand in her hair, pulling hard. The girl moans against his mouth, glad because he is now crushing her on the couch, and just in case, she surrounds him with her legs. He kisses and kisses her, mouth and chin, jaw and that place under the ear that turns girls into caramel under his tongue.

He doesn’t realize when, but at some point he has begun to arch against her, undulating against her sex just as he would if they were naked.

"Can I kiss you some more?"

"Yeah"

He kisses her collarbone, kisses the center of her chest, flushed and precious. He kisses her down, pulling the t-shirt aside. He doesn’t want to break the fabric, because he knows she doesn’t have much more clothes, but he moves it enough to release a nipple and put it in his mouth. And who is he trying to kid, Clarke has amazing tits, and he knew they would taste even better.

The girl arches against him, and the surprised gasp that escapes her makes him smile.

"Feels good?"

"Yeah" she puts her hands in his hair, caresses his scalp with her fingernails, and Bellamy feels a shiver run from his nape to his cock.

"Can I lift your shirt?"

"I thought we were kissing" Clarke suddenly hesitates, and the boy looks at her, her nipple brushing his lower lip, and he knows how his mouth is supposed to look right now. Clarke seems to like the image because he sees her pupils dilating.

"I'm just going to kiss you, I promise," he says, licking her nipple after, letting her watch his tongue, and Clarke nods.

She is the one who pulls up the shirt, but doesn’t take it off, and maneuvers with the bra —that thing flies to I-don’t-care-where— and suddenly Bellamy is face to face with a lot of naked flesh. Like  _a lot._

"Shit" he kisses her in the center of her chest first, as he feels the sweat running down his back, his own t-shirt bothering him. He caresses her with his nose, nuzzling, because she smells good, until he founds the same nipple he’s been torturing before. He sucks at it, because he loves the sound Clarke does when he does it.

He only wants to kiss her, but in the end, he also touches her because God, her tits fit perfectly in his hands, and he makes circles with thumbs on her nipples while she looks at him.

He wants to say something but doesn’t know what, so he kisses her in the mouth and the girl seems more than pleased that he’s paying attention to her again. It should stop there, he should stop just here, but Bellamy is a selfish bastard and he wants to feel her against him, so he moves a little back and removes his t-shirt with a fluid movement.

Clarke looks at him with wide eyes for a second, a mixture between resolution and indecision, but it seems to fade away as Bellamy presses himself against her. Skin to skin is the best idea the boy has had in a long time, and holy shit, he doesn’t know how have they just started kissing and now they’re half naked rubbing on the couch, but Bellamy is not going to complain, because the girl is arching against him, rubbing her groin against his hard on, and everything Bellamy can do not to come is to concentrate on the Roman gods. Or the Greeks. Or whatever.

"What do you want, Clarke?" he asks, as the girl scratches him with her nails on his back, her eyes liquid, her cheeks burning, kissing him non-stop. She tightens her thighs around him, like she’d never want to let him go. "Do you want me to keep kissing you?" he asks on her ear, and kisses her there too.

"Yes”

"Or do you want me to kiss you here?" he asks, arching against her, with such clear intent that Clarke must understand it perfectly.

"Oh god"

"Yeah?"

"No," she says, however, swallowing audibly. Then she takes his face in her hands, so she can look him in the eyes. Her cheeks are red and the braid has come loose, a tangle of blond hair around them. Bellamy wants to play with it but he's beyond any finesse right now. "I want you to fuck me," she says, like it`s not important.

Now it’s time for him to choke.

"Is that okay?" she asks again as she caresses his cheeks with her fingers and Bellamy melts down because when she seems indecisive she becomes another Clarke. A version of her that he wants to take care of.

"Just if you’re sure"

"I am" she smiles. The fucking candles are nothing compare to that.

"Okay" he nods, and then he says to himself "Yeah, okay"

"You don’t want to?" she seems unsure again.

"Shut up" he puffs. He's kidding, and she lets him do as he pleases when Bellamy kisses her again to distract her. He kisses her leisurely as he lifts his hips and starts unbuttoning her pants with his hand. The girl doesn’t tremble or doubt. She looks at him with wide eyes, without missing a detail.

Bellamy sits on his heels as he pulls off her pants and panties —thank god she wasn’t wearing her boots— and he's going to take off his too, because at this point he's going to have the zip’s design tattooed on his cock, but Clarke doesn’t give him time.

Just like a little while ago, she sits on top of him, forcing him to fall against the back of the sofa and straddles him, surrounding him with all her naked flesh. And it’s a lot of naked flesh.

Bellamy gasps in surprise and she looks pleased.

"Is it like this with them?"

"Like this with whom?"

She takes her time, unbuttoning his pants, maneuvering with him, to undress him just enough to touch him. For half a second he wonders what are Clarke’s thoughts on him naked, but he doesn’t have time to think about it too much because the girl surrounds him with one hand, in a tentative caress.

"With those girls," she says, murmuring, as she stares at him, her hand moving and Bellamy is nothing but a slave at her feet.

"Sometimes" Bellamy admits "they let me take the lead. Mostly"

"And you like that?” She asks, like a doctor who's colleting symptoms, like this is so interesting to her, his reactions, his smells and the way he tastes.

"Sometimes" he says again, because that's the only word he knows when her hand is around his dick.

"Do you want me to let you take the lead?" She's not being flirty, she's curious. Like sex is a subject and she wants to be the best apprentice.

"No" he moans —moans, goddammit— when she tightens her hold on him. "You can do whatever the fuck you want with me, Clarke" and that's not even a lie.

He's arching, fucking himself against her fist, leaking like a motherfucker because she's so goddamn hot. She's not looking at him though, she's looking at his dick, mesmerized by it.

"You're so ..."

"If you're ... going ... to ... say ... something ..." he fights for air while he moves, thrusting into her hand "about my dick, it better be good" he manages.

"Different" she finally says, rolling her eyes. "You're different from, you know"

"Yeah"

And he doesn’t want to think about Finn —because he doesn’t want to think about what Finn has between his legs— while she's touching him, so he kisses her, and Clarke lets him. He kisses her and licks the inside of her mouth just as he would like to be licking her between her legs, and the girl doesn’t seem to need any more exploitative examination anymore. She lets herself fall on him, making him roll his eyes, because holy shit she’s tight. And hot. And fucking wet.

"God, Clarke"

She moans, biting his lower lip, making his dick jerk inside her. She gaps when she feels it.

Bellamy grabs her hips, and he’s probably bruising her, but God, it feels like he’s on fire. And then Clarke begins to move, tentatively at first, like she doesn’t know very well how to build up the rhythm, but then —when he grunts and moves her with his hands too—she moves faster, leaning forward, his pelvic bone caressing her every time she moves.

"So different" he hears her say, with her eyes closed, and her forehead resting against his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah"

So it was a good kind of different. He smiles and thrusts, and the girl becomes a mass of moans and curses above him. She’s liquid, wetting his neck with open kisses, and his thighs with desire. She’s full of fire, arching against him, and moaning against his ear. Bellamy bites his mouth, and the pain focuses him on what he’s doing.

He leaves a kiss on her shoulder, while increasing the pace with his hips, and he helps her with his hands on her waist. He knows he’s going to come and it’s too soon, but Clarke is fucking moaning against his ear, and fuck fuck  _fuck_.

 

"Come on" he pleads "Stop thinking about coming and  _come”_

She laughs at him, like he has caught her doing a mischief, and then he felt her tightening in his arms. Her inner muscles squeeze him tightly, and Bellamy tightens his jaw, thrusting against her. When the girl comes she does it with quick gasps, and then she bites him, where the neck and the shoulder meet, and Bellamy is a dead man.

"Fuck" he didn’t even want to come yet —he wanted to take advantage of this for a little while, dammit— but it's just as inevitable as a domino effect that has been set into motion. He comes like a train wreck, kissing Clarke, in a kiss that is more like a crash. He comes murmuring meaningless things against her mouth, and later he will wonder what has he said, because when he opens his eyes, Clarke is looking at him, smiling.

"I've never considered you a romantic, Blake"

And to avoid getting red to the ears, he smiles at her —a smirk, Bellamy Blake’s style.

"Yeah, I'm the perfect gentleman but don’t tell the others, we need them to fear me"

"They fear me more"

"Yeah, me too"

She laughs against him, and lets her forehead rest against his shoulder, tracing patterns with her fingers on his abs. If she keeps it going, he thinks surprised, that bastard between his legs will soon be interested again.

But sleep hits him suddenly and Bellamy finds himself closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall.

"You think you can sleep?"

"Yeah" and he's not lying.

"Good. Sleep "

And maybe he dreams it, but he thinks Clarke kisses him once more.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it.  
> Thanks for reading <3 love ya


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